


And Justice Makes Three

by bluebeholder



Category: Dragon Age II
Genre: Eventual Romance, Falling In Love, Fluff and Hurt/Comfort, Happy Ending, Matchmaking, Multi, Past Anders/Karl Thekla, Queerplatonic Relationships, Rivals to Friends to Lovers, Sharing a Body, the mechanics of hosting a fade spirit in your soul
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-26
Updated: 2020-05-26
Packaged: 2021-03-03 04:35:07
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,500
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24389011
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bluebeholder/pseuds/bluebeholder
Summary: Fenris is a person of upright character and strong convictions. For all their differences, Justice admires him—an admiration which quickly turns to more. A very exasperated Anders is dragged along for the ride (and develops romantic feelings of his own) as Justice navigates the murky waters of mortal affections and the complexities of trying to fall in love with a man who thinks Justice is a demon.
Relationships: Anders & Justice (Dragon Age), Anders/Fenris (Dragon Age), Fenris/Justice
Comments: 20
Kudos: 106





	And Justice Makes Three

**Author's Note:**

  * For [adrift_me](https://archiveofourown.org/users/adrift_me/gifts).



> Got prompted for some justfenders and thought, hell, why not? At least it'd make an interesting drabble. The original prompt is as follows:
> 
> _would you prettyyyy please write fenris/anders/justice, where justice thinks fenris is the best thing to happen to anders and keeps nagging anders about Feelings, and also has feelings too, just feelings everywhere, especially from Justice omfg_
> 
> 4500 words later, here we are. Enjoy the chaotic energy in here, folks, it's quite a ride!

On occasion, Justice is convinced that he is no spirit of Justice, but is rather a spirit of Reason.

“You,” Anders mutters aloud, mashing elfroot in a mortar and pestle with more effort than is strictly necessary, “are no spirit of Maker-damned reason.”

Justice objects. In this, he _certainly_ sees more clearly than Anders! In most matters, he is content to see them as one being, a unified soul in a single body—but in this matter, the disagreement is strong enough that Justice feels as if Anders will eject him at any moment.

“If you don’t shut up about the bloody elf, then I will throw you out,” Anders snaps. “I don’t know _how_ , but I will.”

Reason, Justice points out, _should_ allow Anders to see that his persistent dreams of Fenris indicate a certain attraction. Justice is likewise not in charge of the beating of their shared heart, so the fact that it beats harder in Fenris’ presence cannot be blamed on Justice. _Furthermore_ —

“I am _not_ listening to you!” Anders shouts, slamming the pestle down on the table with a bang. His voice echoes through the empty clinic.

“Is now a bad time?” Hawke asks, peering around the door with her eyes wide, and Justice retreats. They can continue to discourse on the subject later.

A certain guilt—a highly unwelcome emotion acquired from Anders—eats at Justice when he realizes that Fenris is not coming along on this mission, the particulars of which he missed. Apparently it has to do with mages and the Gallows, and Fenris expressed disinterest. Justice ought to be focused on their mission, and on an ordinary day he would be, but today he can only do what Anders would describe as _mope_.

While Anders proclaims their righteous cause, Justice dwells on how much he would enjoy being beside in Fenris in battle. The elf is a capable and strong warrior, a pleasure to observe in combat. For all that he is rude and acerbic, he is well-spoken and Justice always enjoys a debate with him. And then there is the matter of the lyrium in his skin and its magnificent singing—

“If you do not stop forcing me to think about Fenris, I am _going_ to knock us out,” Anders says through gritted teeth.

Justice would be more displeased with Anders’ tone if it weren’t clear from his physical reactions that Anders enjoys thinking of the motion of Fenris’ body just as much as Justice does, though for slightly different reasons.

And so it goes for the rest of the week. It takes remarkably little to nudge Anders into thinking about Fenris. His thoughts are so tangled with Justice’s that, often, all it takes is a mere mention of Fenris to send them both into a shared pleasant daydream. Justice cannot help but wonder what it would take to convince Fenris to take their hand.

“You can’t call yourself reasonable if your Blighted daydreams ignore what a complete ass he is,” Anders says one night, pulling a pillow over his face in an attempt to suffocate himself in exasperation. Justice seizes control of their hands to throw the pillow across the room. Anders muffles a scream in his mattress.

At a certain point, Justice is aware that he has passed into what Varric’s novels would call _pining_. Anders loses Wicked Grace even worse than usual in the following weeks as Justice accidentally steals all his focus to watch Fenris; for that, at least, Justice feels shame. The Diamondback games at Fenris’ mansion are worse. Fenris smiles and laughs more freely in the confines of his own home and oh, how pleasing it is to suggest to Anders the kind of remarks that will bring out that brilliant smile.

“Is it merely a trick of my mind, or have you truly become more pleasant in recent days?” Fenris asks one evening, after Varric and Donnic have taken their leave of the mansion.

Anders pauses in the act of putting on his coat. Justice, if he had control of their lungs, would be holding his breath. “I‘m tired of arguing all the time,” Anders mutters at last. “You have good points. Some of them.”

“As do you, I suppose,” Fenris says with a faint smile.

Justice feels their shared heart leap.

It no longer requires argument to convince Anders to think with some fondness of Fenris. Though Anders still objects when Justice lingers too long on Fenris’ many fine qualities of mind, he is pleased enough to consider at length Fenris’ _physical_ appeal. “He can be handsome and still make it his life’s mission to annoy me,” Anders says.

But it seems that the change in their treatment of Fenris has precipitated a change in Fenris’ treatment of them. He is no less irritable or brusque, but the viciousness of his comments on their cause has faded into a resigned annoyance. He will even aid mages without comment, on occasion, and the addition of his sword to their cause makes Justice rejoice.

Yet Justice can agree with Anders that it is unwise for Justice to make his presence too bluntly obvious. Though he may be melded with Anders’ soul to such a degree that they can never be considered separate, that is not how it seems to outside observers. Since Justice, as himself, can only be truly seen when Anders makes a full retreat from their shared body, his true position remains puzzling to outsiders. Fenris, in particular, dislikes it when Justice appears. In order not to alarm him, Justice keeps quiet in battle whenever possible.

Until the day that they make the error of taking on too large a group of bandits near the foot of Sundermount. Hawke is hard-pressed, her bravery faltering in the face of such opposition, and her mana nearly drained. Varric is on the retreat, running low on crossbow bolts. Fenris bleeds from a dozen wounds that slow him in a myriad ways. Anders is running out of mana very quickly.

And then a lucky bandit breaks through Hawke’s barrier. She cannot raise her staff quickly enough to block a blow to the shoulder that knocks her prone. Hawke does not move.

“ _Marian_!” Varric shouts. Firing from cover, he is too far away to reach her. Fenris, locked in combat with three bandits at once, cannot break free from them. Anders is not prepared for such action.

Justice _is_.

He seizes control of their body and Anders retreats happily. Justice casts aside Anders’ staff—he will not require it—and surges forward, through the bandits’ ranks toward Hawke. Those brave fools who try to oppose him cannot harm him with their pitiful steel, and the wiser cowards take flight at his approach. It is _good_ to do this, to save Anders’ friend, and the _righteousness_ of it fills him with strength.

By the time they reach Hawke, the bandits have been dispatched by Varric and Fenris or have simply fled in panic. Justice kneels beside Hawke and, following Anders’ well-practiced motions, tips a healing potion into her mouth. After a moment, she coughs and blinks, pushing herself upright.

“What’d I miss?” she asks, sounding groggy.

“ **Remain still** ,” Justice says. “ **Anders will need to examine your injury further**.”

Hawke looks at him with round, slightly wild eyes. Varric, arriving beside her, pats her on the uninjured shoulder. “Justice there just saved our bacon,” he says, with a smile that even Justice can tell is shaken. “We should probably thank him.”

Justice rises to his feet. Anders is clamoring to regain control, but Justice feels unwilling to do so until he knows the danger is past. “ **It was right** ,” he says. “ **No thanks are necessary**.”

As Varric attends further to Hawke’s injuries, Justice turns to survey the battlefield. He is slightly startled to find Fenris standing close, leaning heavily on his sword, studying Justice with narrow eyes. A cut is dripping blood down his forehead, staining a lock of silver-white hair red. A little rage swells in Justice at the sight, but Fenris does not seem to notice it. “How long do you plan to keep Anders from us?” he asks.

“ **He will need more mana than he has to return home safely** ,” Justice says. “ **I will protect you in the meanwhile**.”

Fenris looks around pointedly at the bodies of the men Justice dispatched. They are far more…torn…than the bodies of those Fenris and Varric dealt with. Looking at the battlefield through Fenris’ eyes, Justice feels the odd sensation of understanding why Fenris might be wary of him. “If you had not caused this carnage in the name of saving Hawke, I would not believe you,” he says. Then he looks up at Justice, half smiling. “As it is…for this, I will trust you, spirit.”

Justice wonders if it is possible to transform into a spirit of Joy.

A few weeks later there is a crisis involving a Tevinter magister hunting down an escaped slave somewhere in Kirkwall. Hawke, of course, intervenes, and Fenris leads the charge. Though Anders largely focuses on keeping their companions alive, Justice cannot help but watch Fenris.

His dry commentary on the proceedings is absent. His posture is tense and he does not laugh even at Isabela’s best jests. In battle, he strikes with even more force behind his blade than usual. It is obvious to Justice that Fenris is unwell in spirit.

They are too late to stop the magister from exacting her revenge on the fugitive. It all ends in a bloodbath and a duel with the abomination the magister quite willingly becomes when Hawke arrives on the scene. The moment the abomination crumples, Fenris slams his sword into its scabbard and storms away without another word.

“Should someone go after him?” Hawke asks, wiping her brow.

Isabela winces. “Maybe let him cool off,” she suggests.

Justice howls at Anders to follow Fenris. Anders pauses for a moment, and to Justice’s shock agrees on the spot. “I’ll go,” Anders says, and Isabela and Hawke look at him strangely. “He took a fair few hits a moment ago. I’d like him not to bleed out. Professional courtesy.”

“Your funeral, sweetheart,” Isabela says with a shrug.

As Anders hurries through the narrow passages of Darktown after Fenris, Justice cannot stop _worrying_. Fenris’ expression when he saw the dead fugitive was very much the same one Anders wears when he cannot save a mage. Pain and rage in equal measure.

They find Fenris near the clinic, to Anders’ surprise. He turns on them with a snarl, reaching for his blade, but stops when he sees Anders. “Leave me be, mage.”

“You’re bleeding all over the place,” Anders says. “If I leave you be, you’ll be in a lot worse shape.”

“I do not need your magic,” Fenris mutters, looking away. “It is _poison_.”

“You weren’t saying that two hours ago when I was patching you up from that arrow wound,” Anders says, folding his arms and scowling.

“Two hours ago, I had forgotten the corruption magic brings.” Fenris glares up at Anders. “Now I have been _reminded_.”

Before Anders can open his mouth to deliver some particularly cutting words, Justice suggests that Anders offer a poultice, or perhaps simply a bandage. “We’re five minutes from the clinic,” Anders says, terse. “I can do something about that gash on your leg _without_ magic.”

Fenris hesitates. “Very well,” he says after a long moment. He follows Anders to the clinic without protest. Though Justice for a moment considers reminding Anders to light the lantern, he decides not to do so. Fenris deserves their undivided attention.

“Now is _not_ the time,” Anders whispers, under cover of rummaging through a crate full of bandages. Justice objects: this is _precisely_ the time. It would be a great wrong to do Fenris further harm when he is clearly in such pain.

And indeed Fenris is in pain, though not entirely from his injuries. He remains stoically silent as Anders attends to him, sitting on cot with his hands in his lap, looking at the wall with his face set in an unhappy mask. At last, when Fenris is out of immediate danger, Anders steps back. “There,” he says.

“I will go.” Fenris pushes himself to his feet with a wince. Each step he takes seems to cause him great pain, and when he draws near Justice plainly sees the wetness rimming his eyes.

Justice cannot bear it. He takes control of their hands and catches Fenris by the shoulder. “You must stay,” he says, striving to imitate Anders’ tone even as Anders silently shouts at him in irritation. It would be far preferable to take Fenris by the hand, but Justice senses that this would merely incite a far louder conflict.

“Unhand me,” Fenris says, but there is no fire in the words.

“You will sit alone in the dark and brood and drink without attending to yourself,” Justice says. “I do not wish to have you back here with infected wounds tomorrow.”

Fenris’ shoulders slump a little. “As you say,” he says, sitting on the cot again.

“What troubles you?” Justice asks. He ignores Anders’ complaints that this is a terrible idea in favor of sitting down and watching Fenris.

“We were too slow,” Fenris says, hands clenching into fists in his lap. “Had we been quicker, we could have saved the fugitive. I do not even know his _name_ and he is dead. Hunted down and killed for sport. What did the magister care for him, save that he was her property? I could have helped him gain his freedom and I failed him.”

Anders is silent. The ring of familiarity is in Fenris’ words. Justice knows this feeling. So does Anders. “We will not fail next time,” Justice says.

With tired eyes Fenris looks up at him. “And you will help me against magisters, is that it?” he asks, voice weary. “Against your own kind.”

“Anyone who treats men as you have been treated **is _not_ my kind**,” Justice says. Fury boils up and splits Anders’ skin. Anders, if he had control of their hands, would have put his face in them; as it is Justice feels him resign himself to imminent death. Justice ignores him. “ **Magister or Templar, I care not. You will be avenged for the wrongs done to you.** ”

Fenris stares at Justice. “You care only for mages,” he says, lip curling slightly. He is not afraid of Justice. It is…refreshing.

“ **That was true in the past** ,” Justice says. “ **No longer. To ignore your struggle is to permit injustice to continue and I will not countenance it.** ”

It is clear that Fenris does not know what to say. Nor does Anders. Justice has no more to say.

For a while they merely sit in the silent darkness of the clinic, watching each other.

Something changes between them after that. Justice is not always good at defining human emotions; Anders, for all that he wears his heart on his sleeve, prefers _not_ to define his emotions where Fenris is concerned. “Fondness” does not quite seem to work, nor does “appreciation.” “Camaraderie” is too small, and “adoration” too large. He hesitates to call it “love,” because he has felt (by memory) what Anders felt for Karl and knows that this feeling has not quite reached such a depth.

Therefore Justice decides to merely _feel_ whatever this is, and enjoy it.

Justice refrains from making further appearances or he would try to speak to Fenris himself. He contents himself with enjoying Fenris’ dry wit and rare smiles when they are among their friends. It takes little convincing for Anders to speak more casually and less irritably with Fenris. The effort, it seems, is appreciated. Fenris, though he puts on a show of reluctance whenever Hawke insists on charging headlong into the fray against the Chantry, even volunteers for missions once or twice.

At night, while Anders sleeps, often dreaming of Fenris in various ways, Justice dwells on the changes in himself. He thinks of himself as “male,” which is odd considering that spirits have no such concepts. More blending of himself with Anders, Justice thinks, and for the first time wonders if someday they will cease to have any differences at all. If such a thing should happen, then Justice is certain that the resulting soul would be called Anders. This has always been his body, after all. The name attached to this face is “Anders,” and its skills are largely his.

A spirit would accept this with equanimity.

Justice fears it.

“You’re not going anywhere,” Anders says with a sleep-rough voice one morning, as the early dawn light seeps through the clinic’s high windows. “We’re much too different.”

Anders is still asleep enough that Justice can watch the dancing of dust motes, follow their motion by his own will. He wonders how different he truly is from Anders. He is only _himself_ at the extreme end of the soul they share. Anders occupies the other extreme. In between…

“Well,” Anders says aloud, stretching out and making their shoulders crack, “you don’t like getting drunk and I do. You like a simple life and I don’t. You want to do a lot of very dramatic things about the Chantry and I’d be perfectly content to continue the Mage Underground as it is. In fact, you’re a very dramatic person in general…”

As if that legendary escape attempt swimming across Lake Calenhad wasn’t _dramatic_. And that earring? Was that not dramatic?

With a startled laugh, Anders sits up and cards fingers through their hair. “You have me there,” he admits. Justice allows himself to radiate satisfaction, which makes Anders smile.

“You have changed, mage,” Fenris says one evening, as he walks beside Anders and Justice away from Hawke’s estate.

“You’re just noticing things you haven’t before,” Anders says airily.

“I could not have failed to notice how much you disliked me mere months ago,” Fenris says.

Anders shrugs, looking up at the sky, the stars blotted out by Kirkwall’s many lights. Justice seizes control of their eyes and looks down, to better see Fenris. “I’ve learned to see your…better qualities.”

“Unfortunately, I have learned to see yours, too,” Fenris says, looking up at Anders with one of those smiles that make Justice feel like a bird in flight.

Indeed, Justice is so distracted at the sight that he causes Anders to stumble over his own feet. If not for Fenris’ quick reflexes in catching them, Anders would have broken his nose on the flagstones. “Thanks,” Anders says, leaning on his staff. “Owe you one for that.” Justice apologizes loudly, but Anders appears to be ignoring him.

Fenris continues holding their elbow, the clawed steel gauntlets surprisingly gentle. Justice cannot ignore the thundering of the heart he shares with Anders, a clear indicator that Anders shares Justice’s excitement. “I have been wondering what changed between us.”

“Can’t claim credit for all of it,” Anders says with a small smile. “I had…internal inspiration.”

A pause. “Your spirit…inspired you to treat me differently?” Fenris asks, looking more confounded than he did the first time Isabella asked him what color his smalls were.

“He was rather pushy about it,” Anders says. Justice can’t object: he _had_ been aggressive in his affections. “Kept pointing out how impressive a warrior you are, how strong a character you’ve got, how pretty you are…”

If possible, Fenris looks even more stunned. “It thinks I’m… _pretty_?”

Beautiful, Justice supplies. “He says beautiful,” Anders says. He shakes his head. “Direct from the source, if you don’t mind me translating.”

“And are you merely following the cues from your spirit?” Fenris asks, after another long pause. “Or have your own opinions truly changed?”

“They’ve really changed,” Anders says. It takes no urging from Justice for Anders to continue gazing into Fenris’ eyes, dark as drowning in the gold light of the street lamps. “You’re still rude and stubborn as ever, but…you’re a good man, Fenris.”

The hold on their elbow tightens a little. “I can say the same, mage…Anders.”

Justice inserts a request for clarification of mortal customs: is this the point at which it is correct to attempt to kiss Fenris?

“ _What_?” Anders demands, twitching. “Justice!”

Fenris blinks, visibly nonplussed. “It seems a little impolite of him to eavesdrop and leave me out of your conversations.”

“He’s being—ridiculous,” Anders sputters.

The rate of their heart says otherwise, Justice reminds Anders, and it’s not as if Anders didn’t _already_ dream about just this sort of moment two nights ago.

“ _Stop it_ ,” Anders snaps aloud.

“I’d like to be the judge of whether or not his suggestions are ‘ridiculous’ or not,” Fenris says, quiet and firm. “So far, it seems that his suggestions have only made us into friends.”

Anders takes a step back, pulling away from Fenris. Their heart races in a different way now, and Justice feels breath catching in their throat. This is panic. Usually, Justice does what he can to help Anders calm himself, but Anders ruthlessly pushes Justice aside. “No,” Anders says. “I—this isn’t going to work the way he wants. I’m sorry, Fenris.”

Before Fenris or Justice can speak, Anders turns and runs. Justice abruptly feels like a passenger in their shared body, unable to even take enough control to turn and look back at Fenris. Anders runs until he can’t run any further, until his side sears with pain and sweat drips down his forehead. He staggers the rest of the way back to the clinic, not lighting the lantern as he enters.

Justice begins to be truly frightened when Anders doesn’t go to his small room. He merely sits down on the floor beside a cot, dropping his staff and kicking it away from him. He folds his arms on the cot and buries his face in them, breathing harsh and painful. Their mouth tastes of blood from the speed of their run.

“I don’t want him,” Anders says after a long time. “I _can’t_.”

Silently, Justice does his best to embrace Anders’ soul. Old, raw wounds bleed pain, with a familiar face and name appearing in every one. These are wounds Justice cannot heal, and should not heal. It would be the deepest injustice, to both Anders and to Karl.

“He’s nothing like that. Karl was a wonderful, patient, _good_ man. Fenris is…Fenris,” Anders says, his voice thick. “We’re barely friends.”

Anyone listening to Anders’ words would believe him. Justice, privy to his deepest thoughts, does not believe them for a moment. He has seen too many of Anders’ lonely dreams. Even now, he can hear Anders arguing with himself that Fenris too is wonderful, patient, good. It is misery to see, painful for Justice to see in someone he loves so dearly.

He gently takes control of their mouth. Anders always seems to listen better when Justice speaks aloud. The dark clinic lights up with the blue light of Justice. “ **You have a great heart** ,” he says. “ **You have room in your heart to love all the mages in the Gallows, and all the poor of Darktown, and all your friends here and in the Wardens. You made space to share your whole soul with me, Anders.** ”

It is not Justice’s tears rolling down their face.

“ **I believe you have already made room for Fenris. You will not dishonor Karl in loving another**.”

Justice is somehow unsurprised when, in the small hours of the night, the clinic door creaks softly open. Justice turns to see Fenris standing in the frame, watching him. At the sight, Anders retreats further, leaving Justice to speak.

But Fenris speaks first. “Is Anders well?” he asks, voice echoing in the silence.

“ **Well enough** ,” Justice says. “ **I startled him with the…intensity of my suggestions**.”

Fenris nudges the door shut and comes to sit on the cot, looking down at Justice and Anders. “I would still appreciate hearing your suggestions,” he says.

Prevarication is pointless. Though Anders cringes, Justice speaks bluntly. “ **I recommended that he attempt to kiss you**.”

“I guessed as much,” Fenris says.

“ **I apologize if I caused you pain** ,” Justice says, feeling all too human and all too awkward.

Fenris’ hand rests on their shoulder, edges of his gauntlets catching a little on the feathers of Anders’ mantle. “I was mostly confused,” he says. “I had thought any seeming affection was all Anders, not…you.”

It is not Justice who leans into Fenris’ touch. But Anders continues to let Justice speak for them both. “ **If affection from me is unwelcome, I will retreat** ,” he says, looking carefully at Fenris. “ **I will not do you wrong in such a way**.”

“Not unwelcome,” Fenris says, giving their shoulder a light squeeze. “Unexpected. And not yet returned.”

_Yet_.

“ **You have called me demon many times.** ”

“I may have been wrong.” Fenris studies their face. “I was wrong about Anders. There is much I still have to learn.”

Anders nudges Justice aside a little. Justice allows him to take control again, feeling rather overwhelmed. “He’s just as much me as I am,” Anders says, wincing at how confused the words sound. “It isn’t…you can’t have me without him.”

“I knew that from the start,” Fenris says. “The only thing changed is that it seems Justice has greater affection for me than you do.”

“That is not wrong,” Anders admits. He rubs his face with both hands. Justice gives him a little push, to speak his thoughts. “Justice isn’t the only one who thinks you’re very beautiful, though. That’s both of us.”

Fenris leans down and, light as a feather, kisses their forehead. “You are not bad on the eyes yourself,” he says.

In perfect accord, Anders and Justice lean sideways to rest their head against Fenris’ leg. Anders is the one to lightly curl their hand around Fenris’ ankle. Justice, as he has wanted to do for a _very_ long time, takes Fenris’ hand, despite the spiked gauntlet. Fenris shifts into the touch a little, seeming quite content to let things stand as they are.

This will, of course, look very different in the light of day. But Justice trusts both Anders and Fenris to treat each other and themselves as they ought. It may not be easy, but then again the right thing, the worthwhile thing, never is.

It is also very nice to be proven correct.

“There you go again…he thinks he’s a spirit of Reason,” Anders mutters.

“I would go so far as to say that he is all the reason you have,” Fenris says.

It is unrighteous of him, but Justice fully enjoys Anders’ indignation. Fenris once again proves himself wise. Justice _is_ the most reasonable one here.

As Anders and Fenris begin to talk quietly of nothing at all, Justice considers that if this goes on much longer, he’ll end up becoming a spirit of Love.

Justice wouldn’t mind that.


End file.
